Inherently Racist When considering the creation of a racist or prejudicial person - a common bigot, I imagine a houseful of hard-core white

supremacists who drill their Aryan beliefs into a child, molding that spawn into the image of their rantings, skinned head and all. The eventual polished result would not sprout up immediately. This process would naturally take time - viewings of old World War II news footage featuring Hitler's Third Reich, sessions of cutting lots and lots of paper dolls out of white paper, Mein Kempf board book readings. These structured events would certainly need to take place over a period of months, possibly years. This seems like the only logical way a racist kid could come into being. Therefore, I find it mystifying and confusing that my own child seems to be racist, complete with her own prejudices. The only explanation that makes any sense at all is that being inherently racist is indeed possible. Three very specific instances prove my seven-year-old daughter is a "whites only" type of girl. Each situation has been more surprising than the last. I find myself just living my normal life, imagining I am doing what I need to do to create an accepting daughter who bases her judgments on people's actions rather than their appearances. My husband and I have tried to be good role models of integrity and ethics. We display our principles through our actions and do not make negative comments about others when our children can hear. I have done nothing in my child-rearing to expect the words that have come from her lips.

The first occurred when she was only five when she revealed her feelings quite innocently as we discussed morality and doing the right thing. Maddie had the opportunity in her pre-kindergarten class to choose a toy from the treasure box for displaying good behavior. One toy was the reward. Secretly, she took two when it was her turn to dig through the McDonald's Happy Meal toys, super balls and other dollar-store fare. No one would have been the wiser, but since Maddie was only five, she was proud of her doubledipping and revealed herself after school that day when showing the family both of her prizes. Of course this became a teaching moment, one in which I would help her learn about ethics and character. We discussed the situation, and I told her taking two items when her teacher clearly told her and the other classmates that each person could have one was wrong. I gave Maddie options because that's what I have learned a parent should do. I told her she would have to tell her teacher about the poor decision she made and then the rest was her choice. She could keep both toys and tell her teacher that the next time she had a shot at the treasure box, she would pass due to taking the extra prize. If she didn't like that idea, she could return the second prize she took and still be able to choose the next time the teacher offered rewards. Maddie decided she would forego her next reward turn. She said, "That's what nice people do, and we're nice." "Yes," I replied. "What do you mean 'we'?"

My sweet, little five-year-old rubbed her right forearm with her left hand and said, "You know, whites." I delayed my reaction a bit because I had to reel in the thoughts swimming through my mind. Had I ever said anything at all to indicate that white people were nice? That all white people were good? That other people of other colors couldn't be nice? Nope. I clearly had not. Never happened. Once I determined this wasn't my doing, my line of thinking went directly to my husband. Had he planted these thoughts? No. I didn't have to consider that idea for more than a millisecond. Had other family members led her to these beliefs? No. No way. We were are all in the clear. I had two goals then. Figure out where these thoughts came from and turn around her way of thinking. She was clearly confused, possibly not even sure what she was saying. She couldn't tell me why she thought this. I quickly realized I probably would not determine the origin, so I switched to accomplish the other goal. "Maddie," I said, "People with all colors of skin can be nice. You know people who have brown skin who are nice, right?" She nodded her head but offered no examples. I quickly listed off a few people she knew well to prove to her these were nice people. After all, these were people she had interactions with. She had experienced their treatment of others and their good deeds. "How about so-and-so," I would say. Maddie would nod. This went on for a minute or two; I kept naming names, hoping she would be able to join in with her own ideas of good non-whites. She

smiled widely and said, "Oh, I know. And basketball players. They're nice. And football players. They're nice, too. Oh, and hockey players." "Right. I am sure they're nice. I don't know if there are really many non-white hockey players, but that's beside the point." Not quite satisfied with the outcome of my lesson of acceptance, I decided I had hit the end of that conversation. Instead of teaching her that all people can be good, she came to the conclusion that nice black people play sports. I might have failed. The second occurrence of blatant racism happened shortly before Christmas. Maddie was still five, and she was aglow with the Christmas spirit. We had been watching the usual Christmas programs that the television networks play in order to spread holiday cheer. That night's installment was "Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer." We had watched it together the year before, but Maddie was scared of the "Bumble," so she hadn't been that happy with the show. This year she was better-prepared for the frightening abominable snowman and was overtly excited. I remembered watching it when I was a kid and found some of it quite funny after having not seen it in at least 20 years. I had no recollection, for example, that Herme the Elf had longed to be a dentist but was stuck making Christmas toys because elves just didn't go into dentistry at that time. I found that entire storyline quite entertaining and was considering that during the famous "Misfit" song. The song goes, "We're a couple of misfits. . . . Seems to us kinda silly that we

don't fit in." Herme and Rudolph sang away, and Maddie was enjoying the show when she turned to me and asked, "Mom, what's a misfit." I decided this was an easy one to clarify. I explained that certain people feel like outcasts because they don't belong. They are different than others, and sometimes they have their own ways of doing things that are different, not like what everyone else is doing. Not everyone likes what these people do just because it's not the usual. I felt my description should be understandable and was not surprised, when she nodded and said, "Oh, I get it." It's the part that came next that hit me unexpectedly. She continued, "Like Mexicans!" This was only a couple of months after the whole "whites are nice" event, and I clearly did not have the correct answers on that one. I had no way how to approach this interpretation. I just turned back to the Herme's song and dance. I might have failed again. Maddie kept her racist rampages to a minimum for over two years. I hadn't heard a word from her about the differences between people. Either she had changed her ways and become more accepting or decided ours was not a home in which she could freely expound upon her prejudices. Inevitably, though, she showed her true colors yet again. Most people know it's dang hot in Phoenix. Those of us who live here know it well and sometimes find it difficult to walk across 140 degree asphalt on a summer day. Parking and making the trek into a store is sometimes unbearable. That's how it was that day Maddie and I took a trip to Costco.

She complained about the heat immediately upon exiting the car. Once inside, we both felt much more at ease. After making our purchases, we had to leave the cool confines of the store. As we left to head back to the car, a dark-skinned, Middle-Eastern-looking man headed by us as he entered the doors. He as wearing a turban and was fully covered in the rest of his clothing. Maddie remarked, "Why would anyone want to dress like that when it's so hot!" Silly me. I immediately went into what I figured would be an easy rationalization for his clothing choices. I said, "It's part of his culture. Some people dress that way all of the time due to their cultural or religions beliefs." I was certain this explained it. She would accept that and realize different people do different things. I should have seen it coming, but since I had heard nothing discriminatory come out of her mouth for months, I did not predict it. She sighed with disgust, "I have one question. Why move to America?" I didn't even begin to explain that this man likely has lived in America his entire life. Instead, I said, "People live in America so they can dress that way. We all should be able to do what we want, dress as we want and be free to act as we want as long as it doesn't hurt anyone else." Maddie shook her head. "He should live somewhere else." I asked, "Shouldn't we be able to wear weird things if we like them or they are part of what we like or believe." "Only if we live somewhere else."

Could be failure number three. I will admit that I don't have a successful track record when it comes to changing my child's beliefs about others. I try. I used to try more. All I can say for sure is that I do not say the things that she says, I don't tell her to say these things and I have never led her to believe what she seems to believe. This kid came out prejudicial from the start. Not my doing. I find myself free from all blame on this one. Since I like to logically explain life, the only clear justification must be the repeated viewings of "American History X" they subjected her to in the hospital nursery. Or at preschool. Or in Sunday School. Somewhere. Just not at my house.